


Unusual Circumstances

by Hoisted



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoisted/pseuds/Hoisted
Summary: When a tempest strikes King's Landing, it's Sandor Clegane to the rescue. Or rather, Sandor Clegane with a flimsy excuse to be in a room alone with Sansa Stark.





	Unusual Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Ok guys, to be honest, I find smut incredibly difficult to write. This is a first attempt - please go easy on me! 
> 
> Please imagine that this story takes place with an aged-up Sansa and that her betrothal with Joffery was broken pre-Blackwater.

He had arrived in her room so suddenly she swore he must have magiked his way inside. She’d had her eyes closed tight, trying in vain to shut out the chaos of the storm raging just outside her window - a tempest, the maesters called it, and the worst tempest to strike King’s Landing since the previous autumn, almost a decade past. 

“Not a fish after all, are you, little bird? Don’t fancy a swim tonight?” Sansa gasped and her eyes popped open. With all the raving outside, she hadn’t even heard him enter -- had no idea how long he’d been standing there…looking at her…. She made herself sit up and face him as he was snickering at his own jape. 

“Ser, why are you here?” she asked. “What do you....” she didn’t have the words, just an instinctual memory of Septa Mordane importing that she must never, never, never under any circumstances be in a bedroom alone with any man who wasn’t a blood relation. 

Her stammer made him smirk. “I won’t touch you, little bird,” he rasped. His broad, muscular form stood erect more than twice an arm’s length from her bed where she lay - his huge bulk was blocking the path to the doorway. Even if she wanted to leave, she couldn’t…not when he was so much bigger than her, and besides – who could she run to? 

“You won’t touch me.” she echoed softly, her panic subsiding. It was the Hound in room, after all. Despite his harsh demeanor, Sandor Clegane had never laid a hand on her to hurt her. He’d touched before, that was true. Sansa recalled the feel of his gentle hand dabbing at her bloody lip, and another time - steel fingers clasping her arm, keeping her from falling. His touches hadn’t been unwelcome...

“Touch the pretty little talking bird?” he replied. “Not without an invitation. I’d be no true knight.”

A blast of lightning momentarily flooded the room with light, shortly followed by a rumbling so loud, Sansa thought it might have been the sound of a thousand steal swords clanging together in the darkness. Goosebumps rose on her arms.

Sandor’s eyes traveled from her face to a bit lower on her body and he chuckled. “It’s only the storm moving east,” he said. “Away from here…”

“And towards Stannis Baratheon’s fleet,” she finished.

“You have the truth of it,” Sandor nodded as he walked towards the window. Its heavy curtains were waving with the wind. “No one bothered to properly shutter this, I see.”

“I suppose they forgot.” Her relative invisibility was something she counted as a blessing. No one in King’s Landing had ever been concerned with her, not really. And if people hadn’t been concerned with her when she was the king’s betrothed, she couldn’t expect them to care now that he’d set her aside. In her decrepit part of the keep, the shutters banged with each strike of lightning and rain seeped in through the cracks. 

“They’ve forgotten you for now, girl,” he smirked. “That’s why I came. I was certain you’d be alone just as surely as your window would be ill equipped to keep the rain out.” His back was to her and he was turned towards the window. His raspy voice barely able to be heard against the sound of the thunder, lightning and waves outside. He remained with his back towards her, examining the old hinge of the shutter and the gap resulting from the warp of the wood. “Light some more candles, would you?” he said. 

Sansa sat up and walked to the small votive she kept burning by her dresser. The cool night air and the the thinness of her shift doing nothing to ease her shivers. Using the smaller candle, she methodically lit the larger candles stationed throughout her chamber. 

“Thank you, girl.” said the Hound, and Sansa realized his eyes were on her once more. This time he seemed fixated between her tiny waist and the roundness of her bottom. She hardly knew if she should say, “you’re welcome,” or not - she knew the Hound well enough by now to know that he was usually being impertinent, even when he was using basic manners. Instead, she felt her skin grow hot and she felt her heart flutter. Was she enjoying being looked at by the Hound? She rushed back to her bed and covered with a blanket. 

The Hound looked away and continued examining the window, this time producing a pouch of tools from a small leather bag he had swung around his person. He began fiddling with some of the looser nails and pegs affixing the shutter to the wall. 

Angled like this, she could see his entire form, just barely illuminated from the candles and the periodic shocks of light from outside. He was huge, honestly. As big as she had imagined a giant in one of Old Nan’s story. One of the few men she’d ever seen that surpassed even her lord father in height. Every visible inch of him looked hard and intimidating. Muscled “like a bull” she’d heard him described…also, “firm as iron,” if the washerwomen she’d overheard had indeed been speaking of Sandor Clegane. She hadn’t really known what to make of their tittering - it was plain to anyone with eyes that the Hound was a man of unusual physical prowess. What was the point of gossiping about it, Sansa wondered? 

She looked at the bit of arm that was exposed by his rolled up tunic sleeve. She could clearly see the definition of muscles of his forearm -- his strength was so obvious it seemed silly to gossip about. Well , one had to look under all that black hair to discern the shape of his muscles, but that wasn’t so difficult. It was a bit shocking that man could have that much hair on his body, almost as if he was a bear or a wolf himself. How unnatural - the hair would have been a more appropriate topic for gossip, Sansa considered. She wondered what that hair could feel like and she mentally began to catalogue all the times the Hound had touched her. All she could recall was the cold feel of steel…

“That’s all that can be done, little bird,” His rasp brought her out of her stupor and she realized the Hound was smirking again, looking at her as if she were a particularly winsome fool. “I won’t risk taking the shutter off and re-hinging it -- I’ve neither the patience nor the talent and I don’t like getting wet.” 

“Thank you, Ser.” Sansa replied out of habit. 

Her response made him chortle. “Just like the silly little talking bird to thank a man for stealing into her chamber at night,” he threw his head back and laughed. 

The man was infuriating. “And so?” she protested. “You said so yourself, everyone else has forgotten me, so I should thank you for your care.” Sansa had always dreamed that a true knight would protect her from the evils of the world, but after spending so long in King’s Landing, Sansa knew that Sandor Clegane might be as close to a “true knight” as existed in the city. And besides, she’d been so lonely these past few moons she was aching for society, and as uncivil and rude as she found the Hound at times, his intrusion in her room wasn’t unwelcome.

She continued, “I suppose I _am_ grateful for your care, and unlike you, I like being polite, even in unusual circumstances.”

“These circumstances aren’t so unusual, girl.” 

She furrowed her brow, “What do you mean?”

“Is it so far out of the ordinary that I would want to be alone in your company, hmm?” he asked. His face turned a bit pink and he sounded almost tender. 

She was struck dumb. What was the Hound trying to tell her? They’d been alone together a few times previously. Had that been purposeful on his part? He was always appearing from the shadows, seemingly from nowhere. And today he’d come to find her, knowing she was all but forgotten in this decrepit and lonely part of the keep. Wanting to help her. Did he want to be alone with her? And what was she feeling? Did she want to be alone with him? A warm sensation spread throughout her body, making her feel lightheaded, as if she had had too much wine. 

She swallowed and felt her mouth go dry. A queer feeling was creeping through body as if her veins were on fire. It was like a million little pin pricks all at once, causing her blood to move in tiny waves through her body. She wanted to look away from him, to show modesty, but she felt paralyzed between screaming for him to leave and encouraging him to do his worst.

The Hound’s moment of honesty must have cowed him into silence. For a few moments, the only sound that could be heard was the howling of the wind outside. He stood there, several steps from the bed, his eyes never leaving her face. His breathing was heavier and she could see his strong chest rise and fall with each breath. He stood there, still as a statue, looking almost vulnerable for a man so large and well muscled. “Little bird, I-” 

A lupine instinct in Sansa took over. She moved the blankets to the side and rose from the bed. His voice trailed off as he watched her rise. Her legs felt like jelly, but quickly enough, she was reaching out to steady herself on his arms. She stayed like that a moment, a little bit closer than an arms breadth from him. Her breathing had increased to match Sandor’s own, and she saw his eyes glance downwards to the small, stiff points of her teats just visible through the thinness of her shift. His mouth dropped open slightly at this. It was a bit sweet that her body could have this effect on him and Sansa was struck with the uncontrollable desire to reach out and cup his cheek. He gulped audibly and moved his large hand to cover hers, holding it in place. 

“Little bird, what do you want?” he whispered.

“To be alone with you like this.” she whispered back. 

He didn’t hesitate. He bent forward, his lips meeting her own. She opened her lips for him, and moaned, relishing the feeling of yielding to his strength. His arm had snaked behind her to just under her bottom and he easily hoisted her up until her toes were a foot off the floor and she was eye level with him. She curled her legs around his hips to steady herself, his legs rooted firmly as tree trunks to the ground. 

“Yes, that’s right,” the Hound panted, breaking their kiss. One large hand moved from her bottom to grab at her hip, creating the most delicious friction between the join in her legs. 

“Oh,” Sansa couldn’t keep quiet. She felt the hardness of his body pressed against her own delicate flesh, and she was struck with a sudden feeling of emptiness. She felt an urgent need to be close to him, but had no idea how to get close enough to sate this new ache. 

The Hound, however, seemed to be in no hurry. Now that Sansa was held steady in his arms, his lips could easily reach her ear and neck. She turned her head to the side and stretched her chin up, exposing her neck in encouragement. Unbidden, her hips moved gently with each of the Hound’s kisses, the sound of the storm outside covering her moans. 

“Enough,” the Hound said, growing still. He carried her over to the bed and set her down gently, guiding her to lay down by pressing his hand to her shoulder. 

She sat back, propped up on her elbows, too aroused to lay down. The Hound was standing over her, his knee on the bed beside her own, his other foot still standing on the floor. She reached out and pulled on his tunic, just over his heart, “You won’t stop?” she asked, pulling him closer. She did not want time to reconsider or reflect on this rationally. She just wanted to be swept away by the desire to be close to him. Her eyes looked pleadingly into his, encouraging him to continue. 

Wordlessly, the Hound shook his head and began tracing the outline of her curves, from the side of her chest to her hip, with one strong hand. “You’re moving too fast, girl.” he whispered. “Too fast for me and you both.” 

“Too fast?” she echoed. But she hadn’t even done anything, really. All she’d really done was let the Hound kiss her mouth and her neck and her ear a little. Was that too much? Certainly what they’d done thus far hadn’t even come close to what could on in a marriage bed? Sansa lay her head back on the pillow and tried to slow her breathing and the runaway pace of her heart. She swallowed hard and heard him whisper, “Please, trust me.” 

She nodded her consent, lulled to silence by the caress of his hand against the side of her breast. She’d do anything for this feeling to continue, even if the Hound’s hands were starting to feel a bit clammy now. In truth, she had no choice but to go at his pace. She really had only the vaguest idea as to how to proceed. More kissing, perhaps? She’d liked the feeling of his hips wrapped between her legs...

Before she even had to ask, the pressure of his brawny body covered hers and she was sinking slightly into the mattress from his weight. “Mmmm,” she sighed and tried to find a more comfortable position by spreading her legs around him once more. 

“Gods, you do want this, hot blooded creature” he muttered into her ear, with a bite. A gentle nip at her neck caused the odd pressure building between her legs to increase and she pressed herself to him with greater urgency. 

“Oh, bugger me.” the Hound groaned. He sat up and grabbed her hips hard with both hands, so hard Sansa was sure there would be bruises. With her legs spread wide around him, the Hound’s hips jerked violently into her. He threw his head back and gave an animalistic moan, sending shivers down Sansa’s back. “Fuck, Sansa,” he said. “I want this to last, but you’re making it hard.” 

Things were hard, from the feel of them. She noted that she could feel the rigid outline of his manhood pressing against her through the thin cloth of her small clothes. “Oh,” she said with surprise. The realization that it was his arousal she had between her legs must have showed on her face, because the Hound smirked and gently unwound her legs from his hips. “Scared you now, have I girl?” he said, running his hands down her bare legs. 

“I’m not scared. I just didn’t realize…”

“Didn’t realize? How much do you know about fucking?” 

“You mean the marital act?” she asked. 

This just caused him to laugh. “Yes, girl, the marital act.” 

Gods, he was too cheeky for his own good. Didn’t he know that people shouldn’t use coarse language around a highborn lady, even if her family was ‘traitorous.’ “Well, I know as much as any maiden,” she said hotly. 

“So nothing?” 

For the love of the Gods, did he really think her so stupid? “I know how the act works, Ser. I’ve just never experienced it.” 

Laughing, Sandor crawled up the bed to lay down next to her, burned side into the pillow. “Not a Ser, sweet maiden.” He stroked her face, running his thumb from temple to chin. Instantly, the hot feeling in her tummy returned. How did he have the power to annoy her in one moment and then turn her insides to fire in the next? 

She wanted to rebuke him for his vulgarity, but what came out instead was, “Please kiss me,” 

The Hound obliged, grazing her lips with his own and languidly running his hands over her breasts and hips. She couldn’t help but arch into him, loving the heat of his hands on her body. Despite how much her wiggling seemed to agitate him, it felt so right to do. “Well, you have good instincts,” he whispered into her ear. “Let me touch you.” 

He pushed up the hem of her shift and stroked her lightly through her small clothes. Gods, how did each second feel better than the last? Was he enjoying this as much as she was? His face was now buried in her neck, so she wasn’t able to see his expression. His hand had stilled and she could feel each deep, measured breath on her neck. In frustration, she moved herself against his hand in hopes of stoking the fire pooling in her belly. For a few long seconds, his body was entirely still as she panted against him. She wondered why he had stopped stroking her. It had been his idea after all. “Oh please,” she breathed. “This feels--”

It was as if her words had unleashed him from whatever restraint was holding him back. He moved like an animal and in an instant, he’d torn her small clothes down past her ankles. One hand rubbed against her slick folds and the other was fumbling with the laces of his breeches. She could feel just how rough and warm his hands were now, with no barrier between them. His fingers had found a small pearl of flesh right above her entrance and he was jerking his thumb back and forth over it. She relished the sensation, despite his roughness. Her hips bucked and he used the opportunity to slide a slick finger inside her. 

She felt a sharp sting and cried out, the pain taking her out of the moment. It was only his finger, yet she momentarily considered if that might be all that was possible. The Hound’s manhood was out now, and it stood solid and intimidating in his other hand. Motionless, she watched as he pulled at himself slowly, his eyes roving all over her body. “Rock your hips, girl. It will feel better,” he rasped. 

Cautiously, she swiveled her hips up and back, feeling how the motion helped spur the beautiful pressure dominating her senses. Each small rock forward placed that small sensitive pearl in contact with the rough pad of his thumb and soon, she was was moving with abandon, all memory of the pain forgotten. How was the Hound so good at giving her pleasure? Gods, he was really so sweet, despite his rough nature. Coming here to help her. Kissing her and stroking her and looking at her as if she was a treasure. Every time she rocked forward, the sweet torment inside her increased. Something was building and building in her, and she knew if she stopped it would be lost to her. She increased her pace, moaning louder now, knowing the sound of the tempest outside would conceal her wanton behavior. Her eyes clasped to his and something in her snapped. All of a sudden, it was like every muscle in core was clenching and un-clenching with the rhythm of her movements. The feeling was so overpowering, she felt wild, curling her toes and grabbing the sheets in fists at her side. 

“Oh bugger, you’re singing for me.” the Hound exclaimed. With one final groan, his body covered hers again. The hand that had been stroking her was now grabbing at her breast while the other hand pulled harder at his manhood. She felt his teeth scrape against her neck and then something hot and wet spread over her belly. Her own peak was subsiding, but she kept rolling her hips slightly to enhance the echoes of her pleasure. 

“Fuck,” he muttered despairingly. “Oh fuck, that’s not what I wanted,” he said, sounding like a little boy who’d been denied his dessert. He rolled off her and stroked her hair. “And I’ve made a mess of you,” he lamented. 

She looked down. It was true. Her belly was covered in sticky white fluid, some of it causing her shift to stick to her skin where it hadn’t been pushed up enough. Her woman’s place felt soaked and sore. Her own arousal had spread down her thighs a bit. “Oh,” she said softly. She knew she was a mess, but honestly, she didn’t quite care about that at the moment because the Hound had leaned forward to kiss her temple. “That’s nice,” she murmured. 

He chuckled. “I suppose you’re going to thank me now, hmm little bird?” He rose and returned with a damp rag he used to gently dab her tummy and thighs. “Would you thank a man for only doing half a job?” 

He was back on the bed and curled around her now, enveloping her in his strong arms. “Mmmhmmm. Half a job?” she asked softly. It was getting hard to concentrate. The sound of the storm outside was somehow soothing to her now - now that her shutters were less creaky and now that Sandor Clegane had her firmly in a warm embrace. She felt like she was on the verge of a wonderful dream. 

Pressed against his chest the way she was, she could feel it rumble as he gave a deep chuckle. “Everything about this has been unusual. I never dreamed you’d let me touch you. And usually, it goes on a bit longer, little bird. And the man… you know.. I mean, I didn’t take you like a husband, but I’ll show you someday, if you’ll let me.” he sounded embarrassed but oh so tender. 

Sansa considered his words and smiled. She’d wondered why he hadn’t claimed her that way, but hadn’t wanted to set herself up for more teasing about her lack of knowledge. Also, it made her feel so warm inside that he’d been able to avoid using the word _fuck._ “ I’ll leave before the morning comes, sweet bird.” she heard him whisper. The last thing she felt was the uneven texture of his lips on her cheek before she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback, comments, and constructive criticism is welcome! This is un-betaed, so I'm happy to fix any annoying errors.


End file.
